


On Trial

by sonictrowel



Series: Long Night in the Blue House [74]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Frenemies, Gen, have I mentioned I love Missy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 20:12:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11676252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonictrowel/pseuds/sonictrowel
Summary: “Well,” he said at last, raising his eyebrows incredulously even as the words came out of his mouth, “...thank you, Missy.”“De rien,” she trilled flippantly.  “Now are you going to answer my question?”“What’s that?” he mumbled, elbows on his knees and hands in his hair.“Well, I don’t suppose it needs answering,” she said, her voice suddenly closer.  “You’re obviously not alright.”





	On Trial

 

 

It was possible that the Doctor was avoiding Missy.  Well, she was in a vault.  She was easy to avoid.  

Nardole made it known that he was more than slightly miffed to be sent in to deliver takeaway meals, insisting that the Doctor ought to go in himself if he found the food machine so unacceptable.

The Doctor made it known that he did not care.

Because he’d had one (or two, or half a dozen) too many moments of weakness already.  Just because he was a sad, lonely old man, terrified of losing his family for good, didn’t mean that his best friend/enemy/whatever offering him a sympathetic ear was a _good_ thing.  It could very possibly mean she was using his pitiful emotional state to manipulate him, and he was completely falling for it, because he was an idiot.

Best just to avoid the temptation; he’d already told her far too much.  But when it came to family, he felt like it was different.  He knew she understood that.  He knew she took that seriously, and, whether or not she decided to go off and blow up a few worlds when she eventually got out, it was one thing he felt he could trust her with. 

Which, again, was possibly very stupid of him.  So he stayed away, spending his free time taking Bill on adventures (she had yet to repeat her accusation of mania, but the near-constant look of concern on her expressive face spoke volumes,) and basically doing anything he could to keep his mind occupied.

It didn’t always work.

Gallifrey.  It kept coming back to Gallifrey, the terror and grief stewing into rage.  How many times did he have to go through that process til he learned better?  Apparently, at least once more.  

But if he didn’t get this all sorted, it would be too late for him to learn any lessons.

If Gallifrey hadn’t gotten it into their damn heads to go after his family, none of this would have happened.  Athena and Milly would’ve come along in the proper order, and they would’ve raised them together, without being all mixed up across time, without having to send them away or him forgetting all of them for centuries.  And he’d save River.  Somehow, he’d figure it out.  And Anita… Anita would never be.  Athena would’ve grown up and lived her life, and she would never die right in front of him, without him even fucking knowing who she was.

The horror of that realisation kept crashing over him anew when he least expected it, knocking the wind out of him, dragging him under.  He couldn’t have known.  River probably didn’t know, either.  He couldn’t ask her.  He hadn’t seen her in months.

 _Because she got out,_ he told himself firmly.   _Because you’re getting her out._

 _Or because you failed.  You've no idea how to save her!  You fucked it up and you deleted her,_ taunted the same bastard in his head.  

No need to bother with multiple personalities.  He really had it all covered in one, this go-round.

There was nothing to be done.  Not now; not yet.  Whatever he was waiting for, he had to keep waiting, and he had to make the voice in his head shut up _shut up shutup shutupshutup SHUT UP._

So.

 _NASA!_  

NASA was always good for a day out!  Have a little educational fun, squash down the inner masochistic dickhead that was tormenting him in every quiet moment.  But then they ended up going to Mars, and the TARDIS decided to pitch a fit, and then he and Bill were stuck in the middle of a couple of idiot factions trying to start a bloody idiotic war with each other, because of course they were.  Just a typical Saturday, really.  

When the Old Girl and Nardole finally reappeared, all that turned out to have been just the beginning of the day’s surprises.

“Are you alright?” Missy asked, peering around the time rotor.

The Doctor blanched.  She could _not_ be here!

“This can't happen,” he said. “This is not what we agreed to. I'm going to have to put you back in the vault, you know that.”  

They’d been getting on alright in the vault before he stopped going, but this was Missy out in the universe, flying the TARDIS; this was her with access to all of time and space, and all the damage she could cause when she was supposed to be under _his_ watch—

“Sure, that's fine,” she replied.  

“...What?”

She said it like it was nothing.  Like it was a foregone conclusion that she’d be returning to continue her eighty-plus years of imprisonment; like that was just some inconsequential detail.

“But Doctor, please tell me. Really, are you alright?”

He gaped at her.  She looked him over awkwardly before glancing aside at Nardole and Bill.

“You know, after the… thing…?  ...That you told me about?” she asked under her breath, making eyes in their direction in a truly terrible attempt at subtlety.

“Uh, yeah—yeah, yeah, right,” he babbled, waving a hand dismissively as his companions’ eyes turned from Missy to him.  “Fine.  Yep.  Why don’t we just… get back home.”  He turned quickly to the controls, keying in the coordinates for his office and pulling the lever.  “Bill, I gave you an essay to do, didn’t I?”

“Uh, actually, no—”

“Well, make it 3,000 words on, um, conflict resolution, then.”

The _vwoorp_ of the brakes came to a halt and he dashed for the door, holding it open and tilting his head toward the outside as he looked back at her.  “Better get to it!”

“But Doctor—”

“Ah, ah, no buts!  I’ll have that on my desk Monday evening, thank you.”

He ushered Bill out amidst her protests, but Nardole was still lingering, with that face on that meant he was about to launch into an inquisition or a bloody lecture or possibly go all squeaky-voiced.

“Nardole, excellent work forgetting how to pilot the TARDIS, now bugger off, please.”

“Sir, I didn’t _forget!_  She was… acting out!”

Missy rolled her eyes conspicuously.

“Well I had better have a talk with her then, hadn’t I?”

“It’s not _her_ I’m worried about.”

“You’ve got the night off, Nardole,” the Doctor said, in his sternest do-not-say-another-word-to-me-or-you’ll-have-some-regrets voice.  “On your way.”

He finally went, huffing and grumbling under his breath.  The TARDIS door swung shut with much more force than necessary behind him.

“Missy.”  The Doctor slowly turned back toward the console.  “What the hell is going on?”

“You’ve been avoiding me, Doctor.”

“Oh, don’t change the subject!” he groaned.

“I’m not!  I’m here because your bloody TARDIS wanted me, obviously!  She wouldn’t behave for the egg so he had to fetch me, _probably_ because you need babysitting.  Or maybe she’s just fed up with incompetent drivers.  When’s the last time you did any work on the poor thing?”

The Doctor dragged a hand over his face.  “When I was Bow Tie, probably,” he admitted.  “She kept telling me to quit mucking about with her wires.”

“You know, not a single word of that surprises me.”

“So, so what is this.  You’re rescuing us now?”

“Well, you _did_ rescue me.”

“And put you in a vault.”

“I told you, I could get out of there any time if I liked.”

“So why don’t you, then?”

“Well, here I am.”  She gestured round the control room with a flourish.  “I thought we’d probably be on better terms if I waited to be invited.”

The Doctor shook his head, dropping into a jump seat with a scornful laugh.  “Well,” he said at last, raising his eyebrows incredulously even as the words came out of his mouth, “...thank you, Missy.”

“De rien,” she trilled flippantly.  “Now are you going to answer my question?”

“What’s that?” he mumbled, elbows on his knees and hands in his hair.

“Well, I don’t suppose it needs answering,” she said, her voice suddenly closer.  “You’re obviously not alright.”

He made a noncommittal sort of grunt.

“Dinner, then?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Food does seem to be this body of yours’ answer to everything.  I was just… going with the flow.”  She twirled around to the other side of the console as he lifted his head.  “Or I could have another butcher’s at your poor girl’s engines.  Honestly, the neglect is criminal.”

“You could have taken the TARDIS anywhere, you do realise that?” he asked, shaking his head.  “You could’ve turfed Nardole into space and left me stranded on Mars and gone off to enslave a galaxy or start some daft plot with the Daleks because _this_ time maybe they’d really decide not to turn on you.”

She _tsk_ ed, inspecting her nails as she leaned over the console.  “I’d hate to be so predictable.”

“You were, once.  For a long time.  For _most_ of the time.”

“Then what am I now, Doctor?”

“I don’t know,” he answered slowly.

“Well, quit staring at me like that,” she snapped.  “You’re giving me the willies.”

The TARDIS wanted her out of the vault.  She made this happen.   _Why?_

“Alright,” he said, quietly.  “Fine.”

“Fine what?” Missy asked, suspicious.

“You’re on a trial basis.  Please,” he said, letting more sincerity than he intended break into his voice, “don’t make me regret it.”

“What kind of trial, exactly?”

“You pick dinner, to start.  Then I’ll decide if I have a project for you.”

“That first bit’s a trick question, isn’t it.”

“You’re clever, I’m sure you’ll work something out.”

___

He bio-locked the controls to the TARDIS, first, and the doors, so she couldn’t leave unless he let her out.  Then he bio-locked his room and the girls’ rooms and the library and pretty much everything interesting on the ship.  Couldn’t be too careful.

He also let the TARDIS make up a guest suite for her, including a study with a fireplace and a piano and simulated natural light.  She needed somewhere to work, after all.

“Right,” the Doctor said, depositing a pile of heavy books onto the desk.  “Research.”

Missy lifted an unimpressed brow at him from where she was perched primly on the settee.  “Sure you don’t just want me doing engine maintenance?”

“That can be your next project.”

“Fine,” she sighed, standing and approaching the desk.  “What’s all this?”

The Doctor handed her a thick spiral-bound volume.

“'The Intuitive Gemstones of the Apocalypse Monks of the Andurax,'” she read.  “Is this some sort of test where I have to read the whole thing without resorting to murder?”

“It’s my daughter’s dissertation,” he said, ignoring her.  “Particular focus on the Hazandra, the Ghost of Love and Wishes.  It was in my possession, for a while.  Now it’s with River.”

“When you say _now,_ and when you say _with…_ ”

He sighed.  “It _was_ with her.  When she… died.”  He swallowed, staring at the floor.

“And the stone was your doing, I assume?”

“Sort of.  Well, yes.  Only, part of it was me, and part of it… hasn’t been me yet.”

 _“In_ teresting,” Missy said, setting Milly’s dissertation on top of the pile on the desk.  “So what’s your plan?  If it was with her, and you still haven’t got her, what bit are you missing?”

“The bit that makes it bring her back, obviously,” the Doctor muttered.

“And you’re just wondering if I have any brilliant ideas.  Well, I do have those fairly often.”

“You were my first thought, actually.  Centuries ago.  Thought if anyone could figure this out, it was you.  But I didn’t think I could trust you with it.”

“Oh.”  

When he glanced at her, she had tears in her eyes again.  She had to be faking that.  Right?

“And now?” she asked breathlessly.

He shrugged, lifting his hands before dropping them back to his sides.  “Don’t make me an idiot, Missy.  Please.”  He turned for the door.

“You know it’s far too late for that,” she called weakly after him.

___

Missy had some ideas.  As expected, they didn’t start off too well.

“Look, I just want you to sit down over there so when I ask you some very _necessary practical questions_ you won’t chuck anything at me.”

“You really know how to inspire confidence.”

She shoved the Doctor down by the shoulders until he sat back on the edge of the hearth.  Upon further thought, she grabbed the fire irons and took them to the opposite side of the study with her.

“Are you satisfied now?” he called across the room, scowling in irritation.  “Of the two of us, I’m really not the one you need to worry about resorting to violence.”  Actually, the more he thought about it, the more the fire irons seemed like a truly massive oversight.

Obviously enjoying his deepening frown as he came to this realisation, Missy swung the poker delicately over her shoulder like a parasol as she paced along the opposite wall.

“So, let me see if I have all this right.  Your wifey’s consciousness is all nicely wrapped up with a bow, waiting for you on a hard drive on a planet infested with slightly homicidal dustmotes.  You’d like to put it someplace else, possibly somewhere softer and more conducive to whatever sort of unsavoury activities you get up to with part-humans.”

The Doctor glared.

“There’s an obvious question here, and I’m going to ask it now and you’re just going to stay sat right there, agreed?”

“Fine,” he huffed, “just get on with it!”

“What sort of condition was the… original casing left in?  You’re quite sure that’s a no-go?  Only, you see, that would be the easiest and most obvious solution, but I know what it’s like to be stuck in a body that’s…” she frowned in distaste, “on the crispy side.”

The Doctor’s growl came muffled through his hands covering his face.  “The transfer... overloaded her brain.”

“Look, I’m not trying to go all Dr. Frankenstein on you, but a brain _is_ only one bit.  And you’ve got all the fillings for it ready.  But she’s more Time Lord upstairs, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” he grumbled, scrubbing a hand through his hair til it was half standing on end.

“So you’d need a Time Lord brain,” she mused, continuing to pace along the far wall.  “Well, you did bring back Gallifrey, so you’ve got quite a large supply available.”

“Missy.  We went over this.  No killing people.”

“I’m just telling you what, _practically speaking_ , you need to pull it off!  And as you doubtless already know, that means the… wetwear.”

“See, this is why I didn’t want to ask you.  When you’re out of bodies you just snatch someone else’s.”

“Alright, fine.  You’re _quite_ sure she was out of regenerations?”

“Yes,” the Doctor sighed.  “Used them all bringing me back to life, the infuriating woman.”  A smile tugged at his lips and tears stung his eyes.

“Well, like the murder-man said, we are prone to… relapses.”

“If it were that easy, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“I’m not saying it would necessarily happen on its own.  Maybe you’d need a jump-start.”

“I… I don’t know.  This doesn’t seem right.”

“Why not?”

“The Hazandra.  It has to be part of this.  A bigger part.  I left it for myself from sometime in the future.  And it kept coming up next to bits about the bloody Hybrid.”

“Ah yes, the prophecy.  Gallifrey is so sure now that it’s got something to do with you or your kiddies.  Are _you_ sure?”

“Well, we certainly had no plans to do any destroying.  Not after all the bloody work I put in un-destroying it.”

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“You said ‘had.’”

“‘Had’ what?”

 _“‘Had’_ no plans.  You said you _had_ no plans to destroy it.”

“Had, have, whatever.  I’m not going to blow up my planet, Missy.”

“No, perhaps not,” she said, watching him thoughtfully.

“What.  What’s that face?”

“You’ve got _something_ in mind,” she said, slowly crossing the room toward him.  “Something they won’t be too happy about.  You’re thinking of revenge.  Doctor, haven’t you learned yet to leave that to me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grumbled, staring down at the floor.

“Your daughter.  When you learned she was there too, in the Library, something… snapped.”  Her boots appeared in his field of vision as she poked him in the forehead.  “I know what that looks like.”

“I bet you do.”

“I _know,_ Doctor, because you and I are very much alike.  And I’ve been here eighty years trying to keep that switch un-flicked.”

“And how’s that going for you?” he asked sardonically, glaring up at her.

“Better than it is for you, at the moment,” she said, frowning.  Her eyes suddenly widened.  “That’s what it is.  That’s why you don’t want to hear this.”

“What?”

“Your daughter.  You don’t want to hear that you need their bodies to bring them back.”

The Doctor heaved a sigh as he got to his feet.  “Bill’s coming soon, I’ve got to get my lesson ready.  I’ll see you later.”

“Doctor,” Missy called after him, and he paused in the doorframe.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll… keep thinking about it.”

He tried to thank her, but his throat was too tight to speak.

 


End file.
